


Down the Rabbit Hole

by ashflower



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action, Character Study, Established Feelings (if you squint), Eventual Sexual Content, F/M, Friendship, Pining, Political Intrigue, Romance, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Unrequited Love, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22571317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashflower/pseuds/ashflower
Summary: It turned out, they had already been together for so long: night after night, day after day, year after year. It was the first time that she had seen him so helpless; so defeated; so angry.He was Claude. Claude, who was infinitely ten steps ahead of everyone else and mistakes were of the calculated kind. Claude, who was forever calm and composed. Claude, who always had a trick up his sleeve and could turn any situation in his favour. Even in the face of his father, stern and taciturn as he was, he did not panic.But such a pitiful Claude had actually said to her: “Lyra Leveret, you have made me into Altair.”He was scheming, undeniably so, but she was cruel—worse than him, because she made him believe.A battlefield. An empty throne. A prince of mixed blood, and a girl who should have known better. Some choices, once made, could never be undone. Claude might have known how to play the game, but Lyra knew how to cheat, and when it came to war, there were no permanent enemies, nor were there any permanent friends.
Relationships: Claude von Riegan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Rabbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

> **Some forewords:** I just started my Verdant Wind run completely blind so I know basically next to nothing about the Golden Deer route. I am aware of some things but for the most part, I have started this fic in ignorance. As I play through the route, I will be fleshing the story out and trying to not stray too far off from canon but definitely expect a mixture of canon and non-canon aspects. 
> 
> Aside from world-building, character study and interactions, I will also be exploring race and religion topics in this story, at least towards the beginning. The discussion of race will be more of a theme in the story as that has a lot to do with Claude's identity in canon. As for religion, while it will be mentioned, it won't be as heavy as other topics. 
> 
> **This story starts after the end of part 1 in-game.**
> 
> As I do have other on-going projects, Down the Rabbit Hole will be updated slowly but monthly at the very least. I’m probably jumping the gun with this fic but I am excited to write for Claude and I hope that I do him justice. Constructive criticism is welcome. I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback! :)

Nightfall reigned over the forest in silence. The nearby lake enchanted occupants of the forest with long, milky wisps of fog that held promises of desire. Trees lanky at the bole crowned full and high into the sky and cloaked nearly everything in sight if not for the incessant columns of moonlight that forced through slips of open space. It was silent, grippingly so, where even the cicadas had ceased their haunted singing. 

Lyra brought an ear to the ground and then promptly took off, similar to the birds that had been perched atop the trees. She heard the cawing of crows amidst the crinkling of leaves, and the entire forest seemed to ignite in her chase. She pushed herself to keep going; running until her breath could no longer sustain her and she was inhaling fire and her muscles felt raw and flimsy, and suddenly, she was falling. Tripped over a wayward branch and stumbled to the ground, down into a ditch that skirted deceptively along the path. 

She lied still, pacing her breath. It was a half-moon that night, but the stars still shone brightly overhead the forest. If she brought her fingers up, she could trace the lines between constellations and find her way home.

Suddenly, there it was again — the roar that reverberated throughout the forest, not unlike a war cry. Only this time, it was louder. 

She was close. 

She pushed herself up from the ground even though her entire body felt as though she were transcending through three layers of hell, and gave chase once more. 

Finally, Lyra reached the outskirts of the lake where she saw it. There, in the middle of the lake, a majestic stag stood. Antlers as tall as its body wove around its head like a crown and branched off into two. The tufts of its fur were golden in colour, but its collar and underbelly were a vermillion red. Under the moonlight, it looked iridescent and— _holy_. A mosaic of colours shifted with its every movement as if it were the physical embodiment of the mystic universe itself. 

Its eyes were a green. Dark as the underbelly of an enemy’s friendly demeanour in one angle, and as bright as the sea foam soul of a daughter of air in others. 

It watched Lyra with a careful stare, then, lowered its stout to the clear water that it stood on. It seemed to be bowing, but the look in its eyes was challenging. Taunting, even, as if to goad her into approaching.

She did not realize that she had already been enchanted until she was already halfway towards it.

She did not realize that she was standing on water until she glanced down, and saw her strange reflection. Lyra was small, infinitely smaller than the gigantic stag, likely only the size of one of its hooves. Her eyes were large and confused; her long ears erect with alert; her stout tiny in the middle of her face.

She… Since when did she become a rabbit? What gave her the indomitable courage to chase after a creature as foreign and god-like as the one that stood naught but a few feet away from her?

It was foolish, but she had to be sure. She tapped at the surface of the water to check for steady footing. Her paw went right through it and suddenly the seemingly solid foundation that she stood upon crumbled with her careless action. The deceptive blooms of the summer flowers that skirted along the lake shone with frost; the water in the lake was icy and cold and she plunged without any wit.

Her gargled breaths could not plea for help, nor voice any complaints, though in her mind she was cursing the damned creature as her eyes narrowed against the blurry image of the stag that looked down upon her. It did nothing but watch as she helplessly pillowed further and further down. 

Then, it spoke, its voice familiar, carrying a cadence that she knew-all-too-well and had always haunted her.

“ _Darling girl_ ,” it said, “ _It is time for you to wake up_.”

* * *

Lyra awoke with a violent gasp and began to choke on her breathing. She flung half of her body over the side of her bed as she gasped for reprieve. Her sudden awakening sent her servant into a panic, and Hebe quickly discarded her task at hand to assist Lyra.

After a few moments, she collected herself, and looked up at her servant. It was not Hebe’s fault for her nightmare, but, Lyra couldn’t help it when she thought about her own misfortune. The glare was not directed at Hebe, but, the poor and innocent maid servant still found herself contemplating her escape. She had already counted five steps towards the door when Lyra spoke. 

“Have someone cleanse my room,” she said. She was sure that there was some heinous power at stake. Otherwise, why would she be taunted by such dreams? 

Hebe nodded her head obediently, and left momentarily to call for assistance. When she returned, it was to assist Lyra in preparing for the day. The bath was hot, with steam rising into the air, even though the skies were bright and sunny outside 

“We have already been here for over a month, milady,” Hebe said, “Have you not gotten used to the weather here?”

“How could _anyone_ live here?” she complained. “The people are arrogant and look down upon outsiders. The markets are overpriced and crowded. Derdriu might be a capital city, but it holds no glory of ancient history or prestige.”

It was nothing like Almyra which was rich in tradition and its simple way of living. The people there wore honour on their sleeves and worshipped Mother Earth and all of her creatures. They would never desecrate it by building facilities that polluted the Earth—not even in the name for modernization. 

And, furthermore, she did not understand the religion that most of Fodlan seemed to follow. Religion in Almyra was common, but worship was usually in gratitude of the earth and all of its blessings, rather than the idea and embodiment of a few beings that may or may not have existed. They followed a principle of lifestyle, not a principle of faith.

“…I wonder if Lord Claude had adjusted well,” Hebe suddenly said, then, realized her mistake immediately. She felt Lyra’s unhappy glare on her, and lowered herself into a bow. “Excuse me for being bold, milady.”

“That _was_ bold,” Lyra retorted, though she did not pursue the matter. She closed her eyes once more and rested against the edge of the bath, and continued to soak for a while longer. 

When they returned to her bedroom, it smelled of sage and a large arrangement of food had already been prepared. Hebe had dressed her in a pale blue outfit and curled her hair loosely. Although they were no longer home, Lyra still refused to wear the outfits in the style of Fodlan fashion. She stuck to her native dress style, and even though there were others who disdained her lack of conformity, she did not care.

After all, she was only a guest here, not a citizen.

Though, Lyra supposed, as she glanced at the colourful display of food before her, Derdriu wasn’t all that bad. The port city was surrounded by water and therefore was cold, but there was no denying how surprisingly fresh the food was. It was perhaps the only thing that she liked about her visit; she hadn’t found any meal that she hadn’t liked yet.

She plucked a fresh grape first from a plate and peeled off its skin before putting it into her mouth. It was fresh and juicy, and squished into her mouth when she bit down. But it was cold, and she frowned and decided that she would eat them later once they cooled down.

Then, she reached for a croissant. Her fingers ripped them gently as she peered into its contents. Blueberries were baked into it and white frosting coated the top. 

Almyra had their fair share of pastries, but she hadn’t had pastries as soft and fluffy like the ones from Leicester before. 

She turned to her servant, who looked at her with bright, expectant eyes. “You’ve worked hard.”

Hebe beamed with pride. Lyra could be difficult, but it was always worth it earning her praise and approval. Croissants were a foreign concept to them and getting the fluffiness perfect was a difficult task, and Hebe was not sure if baking fruits into the pastry would be a good result, but she was glad that Lyra enjoyed them. 

Lyra took a sip of the fresh milk tea, and it warmed her up instantly. Although she had woken up in a sour mood, she was also a person of simple and easy-going nature. What was there to be upset about? She enjoyed the finer luxuries in life, such as soft silks and great food. What did it matter that her dreams taunted her once every now and then?

Furthermore, the subject of her dreams was not in sight. With these conditions met, Lyra thought that she was quite content. 

“Let’s go for a walk later,” she said. Good food put her into a good mood and she would not vindicate those who served her well. 

Unexpectedly, the doors to her room flew open. Canis entered with a purpose. He spotted her immediately and frowned. 

“Mid-morning, sister.” It was not a greeting. It was a reprimand for her bad sleeping habits, but she just shot him a nasty look back. Who told him to bring her to a city that remained cold in the mornings even though the skies were sunny? Wasn’t it his fault for not taking the sun with them when they made the trip here? She was a girl who loved the heat and got cold easily. It was his fault for not preparing properly.

He returned her an even more stern look, then gave her outfit a once-over. He looked as though he were considering it, only to dismiss the idea. She watched as he headed towards her armoire where he sorted through her clothing until he finally settled on dress similar to the one she was currently wearing. It was made in the same style, but the fabric and colour was different.

The one that he chose was a bright red. 

She looked up at her brother, and he met her glare equally. Without breaking their eye contact, he handed the outfit to Hebe. “Make sure that your lady is presentable,” he said. 

Lyra frowned. What was wrong with her dress? She thought that it was pretty enough. Furthermore, her brother normally never cared for how she dressed or acted. As far as he knew, his sister was above everyone else and if she claimed second, then who dared to claim first? 

He seemed to understand her thoughts, as he explained simply, “Claude has returned.”

She cursed immediately, and he shot her a fierce look that would have made even ghosts cower. “Don’t swear,” he warned, then turned to her servant. “You have half an hour. Not a wrinkle in sight nor a strand of hair out of place.”

He observed Lyra’s appearance once more, glanced back to the dress, and began to wander through her room once again. This time, he went to her vanity where boxes of treasures lined the surface. He opened each and every one meticulously before he found what he was searching for. 

Canis closed the box and also handed it to Hebe. This time, he tapped the box and met her compliant gaze with a stern one. “Do not forget this.”

“Brother,” Lyra called. 

“It is good that Claude is here,” he said, before she could question his thoughts. 

She knew that he had been stressed. Negotiations with officials and ministers from Leicester were difficult. Her brother had been sent as a representative from Almyra to resolve warfare negotiations between the two countries after border attacks had become more frequent as of recently. Leicester was unwilling to acknowledge that bandits and rebels had come from their territory, while Almyra wanted to calculate costs and reparations. 

Although the relationship between the two countries had improved considerably from centuries ago — decades, even — recently, it seemed as though each step that they took towards improving the relationship was met with two steps back. Lyra and her brother were not welcome here, even if the officials and ministers dared not to say it to their face. (Some still did, anyway.) Yet, the disdain was almost always thinly veiled within their speech and mannerism. Tongues could lie, but not the eyes—not the curling of fists underneath tables; not the twitching of their lips that wanted to laugh at or criticize she or her brother; not the slight of their backs even during informal encounters.

Back home, she thought; they would have to prostrate themselves at her feet if they should ever come to greet her. 

It was not a situation her brother should have presided over, but, the matters between Leicester and Almyra were complicated. Difficulties in politics were expected, but resolvable. Negotiations between family, however, were even more complicated and delicate. Then again, she and Canis had never been normal to begin with. It made sense, in some outstretched theory, that her brother had been tasked with handling the matter. After all, her family, not only in theory but factually as well, were considered the King’s secret keepers. 

Nevertheless, returning without a clear resolution was the same as failure, and it was not something that either she nor her brother could afford. 

She ripped another piece of her croissant and chewed on it thoughtfully. Her gaze never left her brother who continued to stand tall, even with the weight of everything around them. 

“Then,” she started calmly. “We will be sure to welcome him properly.”

His shoulders eased. His lips curled. Fox-like mortal elevated into a fox immortal. 

“I will meet you down at the castle gates, sister.”

He left, and Lyra watched quietly but obediently. When he was gone, she rose and walked towards the window where she spotted, in the distance, specks of ant-like beings approaching. A large creature was in flight, soaring high above the banner men of Leicester, proud as it soared with the glittering yellow and gold insignia of the Alliance. 

Her eyes narrowed, and she turned around to peruse her armoire. She handed Hebe a different outfit, once again in a similar style as the others, but different in colour. 

“Help me change into this one.” She began to slip out of her clothes and into the new ones.

* * *

When she met her brother almost a full hour later, her hair had retained its curls but was now tied to the left, showing off her clean profile, and was decorated with a gold-threaded diadem on top of her head. She had changed out of the outfit that he disapproved of, but did not change into the one that he had chosen. Instead, she wore a dress of royal indigo with red patterns and golden accents. Her rich colours stood out amidst the row of muted ones. 

Around her neck was the piece of jewelry that he had chosen. It was a beaded jasper necklace that had gold spacers in between, and a single clear quartz fang that had a blood vein running through it. 

On her right ear was a triple ringed hoop which hadn’t been visible earlier. 

Canis’ lips twitched upwards, but the approval was quickly fixed into a neutral expression.

People gave her scornful looks as she walked past them, but she did not care. She stood in front of her brother and greeted him a way native to Almyra. He nodded his head in acknowledgement and she took her spot beside him, and together, they waited for the troops to arrive.

Duke Riegan was the last to arrive, before the banner men themselves. When he descended from the castle entrance, everyone stood straighter and turned towards him. Once he reached Lyra, he paused in front of her and glanced at her outfit. It was hard to discern his thoughts from his expression, but she did not falter. She kept her back tall and her posture perfect, though she was mindful not to hold her gaze too high. 

She could offend anyone, but Duke Riegan was someone that she should not.

Shortly thereafter, they began to hear the trumpet calls. The banner men were in sight now, and the castle gates began to part. Above them, the large creature flew overhead. She recognized the dark wyvern and, even from a distance, spotted the familiar rider atop of it. The winds were calm, but suddenly burst into a powerful gust when he neared.

Claude hopped off of his wyvern with a carefree grin and approached. He greeted his grandfather with the demeanour of a spoiled child reuniting with his favourite relative, but when he turned to everyone else, it was in the manner of Fodlan customs — with one hand behind his back, and a fist to his chest as he bowed. 

When he turned to Lyra and her brother, his eyes went wide though it seemed to be exaggerated. “Canis! I thought I spotted you and your sister, but I assumed that my eyes were playing tricks on me. What brings you to Leicester?”

“Official matters, of course.” He grinned. “I had heard that a little scoundrel was causing trouble for Duke Riegan, but never would I have imagined that it would be you of all people!” 

Canis’ smile was polite on the surface, but his vermillion eyes were sharp. Words unspoken between the two that meant much more than the ones that they did voice aloud. A farce, Lyra thought, but who was she to expose them? Onlookers would only assume that it was strange for an Earl Marshall to be so friendly with a supposed street rat from Almyra, but once they remembered that he wasn’t just a street rat but the future Leader of the Leicester Alliance and Grand Duke Riegan’s designated heir, then they would only assume that Claude had more fate than expected.

In any case, it did not concern Lyra.

She looked away as her brother continued with the facade—with what they had been informed of before they had arrived in Leicester. Claude was not a Prince in Leicester; he was only an assumed-heir whose status has yet to be cemented. He was the blood of Duke Riegan and simultaneously the blood of Almyra which made him a liability for the Alliance. If they knew that he was the blood of the _King_ of Almyra, then wouldn’t they plot against him if they hadn’t already?

The irony did not escape her. It seemed that regardless of where he went, Claude’s identity would be a topic of conflict. 

Then again, what did a name matter? Wasn’t it her family that gave his mother a name, a family—an identity? They gave her an entire history and wrote it into the annals of history to be forever memorialized; elevated her status from a nobody to an _Queen_ and subsequently to an immortal.

Even if they were simply just following the King’s orders. 

Nevertheless, what girl in Almyra did not think of his Queen Mother and sigh and dreamt that they could live her life? To find someone who loved them just as deeply; as ardently; as sincerely as the King loved the Queen? And to also reciprocate that love with no regrets?

Without knowing that everything about her had been fabricated?

Well, mostly everything. Three facts had not been fabricated in the Queen’s story: the first was that she and the King had been deeply in love when they eloped. The second fact was that she had been from Fodlan. The third was that she had given birth to Prince Claude. 

As for any and all other facts? They were omitted. Unnecessary. It was better for some things to remain in the dark rather than surface to the light. 

“You have grown, young Claude!” Canis exclaimed, patting Claude on the shoulders. “How handsome and manly you have become!” 

“Quite so, Earl.” Claude grinned. “I am afraid that you have lost your title of peerless to me. Though, it pleases me to have had an opponent such as yourself.”

“You are still a few years short,” Canis quipped, with the roll of his eyes, “but, I am sure that my sister does not mind.”

The conversation was directed to her. She felt their gaze upon her, and so she turned. Claude’s eyes were discerning, tracing the patterns on her outfit and taking in the dye of her silks. His gaze was conflicted. She hoped he was, but, it had only been for a brief, flickering moment before his face brightened.

He saw the necklace around her neck.

He looked up, meeting her curious sight, and grinned lazily but sincerely. He caught the flicker of sunlight upon the gold earring on her right ear, and his eyes twinkled even more.

“Lyra,” he greeted. 

“Claude,” she returned his greeting with indifference.

He did not say anything more, as he absorbed her appearance. She traced his figure with her eyes as well. He had grown, just as Canis had said. Though he was still slightly boyish in his looks, with his dark locks seemingly unkempt; shorter than he’d had it before he left, but he retained the braid at the side of his head, she noticed. His features had become more pronounced, losing the roundness of his adolescence. His eyes had become even more hazy even with the permanent mirth that seemed to dwell within—both familiar and unfamiliar to her all at once.

Claude looked well.

“Come now,” Duke Riegan interrupted. “There are still official matters to discuss.”

“Of course, grandfather,” Claude replied, as he turned away from her with a curt nod, and threw his arms behind his head, “Let me tell you all about my great feats at Garreg Mach.”

While the others departed, Lyra was the only one who stayed behind. She watched as they ascended up the stairs without looking back. A male with pale purple hair whom she had seen on horseback paused when he passed by her. His eyes were curious, but hers were sharp and unfriendly, and she cared not to show him any courtesy. 

She turned her head and left in another direction.

* * *

“Milord.” 

Hebe froze, and promptly turned to greet him. She was the first to notice him, as silent as his steps were. But even Lyra had not noticed his reflection in the mirror until he was already behind her. Her eyes opened dully but in that exact moment, his eyes locked with hers within the mirror. 

Without saying a word, he took the brush from Hebe’s hands and gestured for her to stand back. The young girl hesitated, garnering a glance to her original master, and daringly spoke, “Milord… You needn’t lower yourself to such tasks… It is what us servants should do.” 

Didn’t he know? Lyra was particular about her appearances; her clothes; her jewels; her hair; her makeup. She wasn’t the most easy-going of masters but she wasn’t the most difficult either, as long as things were done according to her tastes… 

What would Claude, such an esteemed person, know about hairstyles for women? 

He ignored her. “Such a tragedy that the wind was so strong earlier,” he said to Lyra. “What misfortune it was for you to have your pretty hair ruined…” 

He sighed, as if lamenting the death of such a grand beauty. But Lyra only glared. The winds were not strong. It was _his wyvern_ that ruined her hair. 

The brush ran through her hair and tugged through a knot harshly. She hissed in pain and saw that Claude was blatantly smiling, though his movements quickly became gentle. One hand assisted in grooming her, while the other fondled her soft hair. 

“I saw a rabbit on the way here,” he said.

She looked up at him through the corner of her eyes. He stilled for a second and gauged her reaction. Then, just as quickly, he resumed his attention back to fixing her hair.

“I thought about capturing it to keep as a pet, but then Lorenz reasoned that it would only be a burden.”

Her eyes narrowed. Where was he going with this? Who was Lorenz? What did it matter to her that he wanted to keep a pet or not? 

“I know, I know,” Claude dismissed. “What does Lorenz know? You are not a burden.”

Her glare hardened. She opened her mouth to spit vitriol back at him, but then she felt the teeth of the brush hit against another knot. Her head tugged back with a harsh yank and this time, she cursed.

“Sorry,” he said, though the twinkle in his eyes suggested that he wasn’t as apologetic as he should have been. “My hand slipped.”

Slipped his hand right around her hair. Right. 

“Well, anyway,” he continued, “It got me wondering: do you even like rabbits, Lyra?”

Her reply was instantaneous. “No.”

“Is that so?” he muttered. “What about deer?”

That was definite. “No.”

“…What animal _do_ you like, then?”

She looked away. “I do not like _any_ animal.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I see.”

He stilled his hand that had once again wrapped around her hair. Lyra braced herself for the assault, but it never came. She looked up and saw that he was staring off into the distance, through and beyond the windows. 

In the past, Claude sometimes had a similar look on his face—far off and distant, as if he were heavily lost in thought. Back then, it had been difficult to discern his thoughts. Now, it seemed even more impossible.

His grip around her hair softened and he began to stroke—or was it _petting_? She inhaled deeply and began to recite some mantras under her breath. Then, by chance when she had peered upwards, she realized that he was staring right at her through the mirror. 

“Do you really not like anything?”

“Yes.” 

It was probably best to keep her responses short and curt. He couldn’t scheme if she didn’t give him any information. Wasn’t that what he did to others? If others said that she had a silver tongue, then he had a golden one. If she had a poisonous tongue, then he had a lethal one. Canis might not give anyone else first place if Lyra claimed second, but there was no use vying when it came to her and Claude. The difference between them was sky and earth. 

“But you like Nell, don’t you?” Nell was her wyvern that she had since young. Practically raised the animal herself. Its temperament was the same as Lyra’s; capricious when it came to his likes and dislikes, but loyal to those who treated him well. Nell did not like Claude, and so, Lyra pampered him even more. 

If possible, her gaze sharpened even more. She was suspicious of his words. 

Once, when she was young, Nell had gotten sick. He threw up for an entire day and refused his meals, causing Lyra to have to watch and nurse him back to health. None of the servants knew why he had gotten sick but their alibi’s had all been similar — _too_ similar, that Lyra knew that they had been rehearsed.

In the end, all of the stable keepers had been punished. None of them had been the culprit, but she did not have any evidence to pursue the matter and could only punish according to protocol. Who told them to collude with an outsider? Even if it was with Claude.

“Yes.” She gritted her teeth. If Claude wanted to harbour any tricks against Nell, then she was willing to fight back.

“Then, do you like me, Lyra?”

She was startled by the question. She saw Hebe lower her head, and pretend not to hear.

Meanwhile, Claude remained nonchalant as he began to play with her hair, lifting it up here and there, as he contemplated on what hairstyle to give her.

“No, I do not like you, Claude.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. 

He leaned over to grab a hair clip, and wove it through her hair. She frowned at the reflection. He’d brushed it, sure; untangled it from the knots caused from the wind, sure; but then he twisted it so much and clipped it so that only the ends of her hair stuck out from the side of her hair, making her look like a pineapple.

“ _Claude_.” 

He ignored her. His forearms rested on her shoulders and dangled before her. He leaned down, his face directly beside hers. For a second, his gaze moved to the necklace around her neck. The quartz, blood-vein fang. Then to the colours that she wore—the ones created from the earth of Almyra; flowers and plants unique mostly to the country in order to formulate the dye.

He looked back at meet her gaze, only to see hers flicker away.

“Didn’t you just say a second ago that you didn’t like any animal? But is Nell not an animal as well? I find it hard to discern what to believe when you change your mind so often… And anyway, what’s the point in keeping something around if its only purpose is to be a sight for sore eyes? Tell me, and I will get rid of Nell if you truly do not like animals. Even if it was your brother who gifted him to you, I will make Canis understand.”

His arms closed around her shoulders, caging her from behind. He never let his focus stray from her. 

Then, unexpectedly, he released her. He rose to his full height, and asked her once again, “Do you like me, Lyra?” She tried to stay silent, but he persisted. “Why don’t you give me a hug, Lyra?” 

If she reneged on her statements, then wouldn’t he use it as an excuse to keep Nell hostage? He was going to keep going until he got what he wanted, wasn’t he? She knew it was a trap, but he was refusing to let her go until she fell into the rabbit hole he had dug for her. 

She caved.

Lyra stood, and walked around the stool. She quickly shot Hebe a look to tell her to look away but the maid was intelligent. She closed her eyes tightly and turned around. 

Lyra finally moved towards Claude. He waited in his spot without moving. His arms remained where they were by his side and she begrudgingly lifted her own arms up. She had only wrapped them around him when he had tugged her further into his chest, and embraced her tightly. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Her face was flushed into his chest. He smelled like the wild plains of Leicester that lingered with a hint of charcoal or smoke. Did he camp a lot? He must have. His trip must have been long and arduous. Did he even get any rest yet? 

Sea-breeze was prominent in his clothes as well and— _warmth_. From the Leicester sun. Fleeting, only to turn cold if she did not grasp it well enough.

It turned out… Even this, about Claude, had changed. 

“Then,” she started, slowly, carefully. A thoughtless question surely. It wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, but between the two of them, she supposed, the lines had become blurred a long time ago. “Do you like me, Claude?”

“Of course not.” Gleefully, assuredly. He did not hesitate to respond.

_This bastard,_ she thought. _Give him an inch, and he’ll take a mile._

Lyra gritted her teeth and stiffened in his arms. She let her own fall back to the side and began to pull away when he tightened his arms around her. 

All of a sudden, her hair tumbled down her back. She heard the sound of her clip hitting the table. His hands ran through her hair, and enveloped them both with the scent of familiarity.

“ _No, darling girl,_ ” he said quietly, barely audible, as if it were the wind itself speaking to her. “ _I do not like you, but, I have missed you so._ ”

She closed her eyes.

The voice from her dream… It belonged to Claude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Canis (Minor/Major) and Lyra are both named after constellations. They house some of the brightest stars in the sky including Sirius and Vega but not Altair.  
> \- Leveret comes after Tu'er Ye which is a Rabbit God from Chinese folk religion. Hence, the jokes and references to rabbits.  
> \- Officially, Canis holds the inherited title of Earl Marshall which is a level of nobility that presides over genealogy and other nobles. They are the ones who grant titles and nobility as well as other duties but primarily the ones mentioned. While they don't typically deal with warfare matters, this situation is given to Canis to handle because of the sensitivity of the nature of Claude's identity and status. (As far as I know, his relation to House Riegan isn't publicized in Almyra even though they know that he is half-Fodlan. But, for the sake of this fic, that is how it will be.) 
> 
> Anyway, Canis is sent to handle the matter since it would risk exposing Claude's identity to other Almyra politicians and nobles if they had been sent in place of him. Due to Canis' unique position as the Earl Marshall, it is within his right to know (and guard) Claude's secrets. As for Lyra's stance on the matter... Well, that is something to be explored throughout the story.


	2. Shadow of the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some non-canon lore up ahead.

“Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

Deft fingers worked at a small, golden contraption. Smooth patterns were carved into the exterior, so similar to one another that it was difficult to discern by imagery alone whether the pieces were placed correctly or not. All of the pieces fit into one another, and all of the carvings regardless of where they were placed told a different story, never to dictate a singular one. 

“No,” she said. Her voice was unbothered, unaffected by his curious yet loaded statement. Her entire countenance was leisurely in comparison to her elegant outfit. The scenery before her — tall spires and open hallways; a wide garden vast and full of wonder; the large rock that she sat upon was on the highest hill far away from the party. From the distance, she could not hear the bustle of engagement nor the presence of people. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

His smiled stayed despite her ambiguous response. Where she should be… Where she needed to be… Where she _wanted_ to be… They were not necessarily correlated, and the both of them knew this. 

He let her response be, and glanced down at the brain teaser in her hands. “You still have not figured it out?”

She finally deigned to glare up at him, setting aside the frustrating toy. 

“Unlike you,” she hissed, “I am free. You misunderstand that my presence is a requirement; my being here is a _courtesy_.” 

It was a thinly veiled _we are not the same_. He did not take the bait, but Lyra still watched as he picked up her discarded toy. Then, she frowned when after a few twists and turns, it opened. Fireflies sprouted to life in the daytime as they escaped from the mechanism. They floated all around her in wonder and unwittingly, her eyes softened to follow the ethereal creatures. She stretched a hand out, but when they landed on her skin, they disappeared into nothing.

The toy closed in on itself, resetting back into its original egg shape.

He laughed, a rich timber of velvet caresses. 

His fingers moved once more. This time, slower. Lyra had already been pulled into his demonstration without realizing it, and she tried to memorize his movements.

“Free?” he asked. His tone deepened; not kind nor gentle. A word that was still foreign to them, because it did not exist for people like them. “No one is truly free. After all, you are still here observing, are you not?”

The mechanism sprouted this time. The tip of its head parted from its body, and suddenly, an iridescent mist began to spread all around them. 

Daylight painted into night. Stone paths turned into poppy fields. Running water replaced the noise of people in the distance; a calm, steady river nearby. Above them, stars came out to play and—a shooting star, over the both of them.

She closed her eyes immediately to make wish, and did not see the smile that he graced her with.

_Free._

She would never admit her curiosity. There was no need to. The puzzle; the place where she sat away from the others yet still within sight… Although she had been away from the others, did it mean that her lack of presence was unfelt? After all, wasn’t he here beside her? 

But she would never ask. Attachment was the contrary of what she strived for, and she would be damned if she allowed him to pull her in. 

She grabbed the toy back from him and mimicked his movements. She was mortal, _only_ mortal. Was there anything wrong with being bored? With seeking something to fill that void?

“Who said that I needed answers?”

Only a fool would seek answers that they would not receive, and Lyra was no fool. 

The pieces clicked into place once more. Her lips curled into the most brilliant of smiles, but when she looked up, he was gone. In his place, she only saw particles of golden flecks—remnants of the illusionary magic? Was he real to begin with? Or was _she_ the fake? 

She stayed, for a long, long time. Waiting — _wanting?_ — him to reappear, but he never did.

The field remained, but he was gone.

The only relic of his being was the strange trinket in her hand. The pieces had clicked into place, but still, nothing had happened. Had she missed a step? She was certain that she followed his movements accurately… 

She brought it up to the moonlight to inspect for any errors, but only saw the emblem of the sun aligned correctly. So why…?

She reset the puzzle once more. This time, there was a louder click. The orb whirred strangely, but Lyra remained calm and waited in anticipation. Just as the puzzle broke, shell coming undone and _bloomed_ —colour. Or lack thereof. Specks of white coated her eyelids amidst a black backdrop and then—green. The colour of the deep recesses of a forgotten pond untouched even by moonlight, only to flicker into a brilliant sheen of sunlight through malachite.

Paradoxes of one another, but true all the same, passing by in only a split second. Shadow of the moon; light of the sun. An illusion dictated by the sun through her sheer curtains? Or reality through the clouds that eclipsed it? 

For a long while, neither of them spoke. Claude had been sitting at the edge of her bed with his elbow propped up onto her mattress, and his head in his palm. He had been staring— _watching_ , she realized, as she slept. 

He looked just as startled as she must have been, but he did not say anything, and so, neither did she.

Her dream edged to the recess of her mind, lingering, but fragmented. Something in her mind told her not to forget, but another part insisted that she never did remember in the first place. A figment of dreams, not reality, but why did she still find herself trying to chase that haze? It was no memory to begin with, so how could she recall?

Her eyebrows crinkled, eyes closed shut. She pulled her covers further up her body until it reached under her skin again. Maybe… Maybe if she fell asleep again, then she could continue from where she left off?

“Lyra?” It was Claude. Still there. Still staring at her.

“Has Leicester made you forget your manners?” Her words were meant to reprimand, but in the morning air, was soft. A whisper that badly contained her usual acidic cadence—almost innocent, if one were to pretend ignorance. “Don’t you know not to enter a woman’s room without her permission?”

She purposefully tugged hard on the sheet beneath her, causing Claude’s elbow to slip.

“I knocked,” he said. “It’s just that, you must not have heard.”

“Silence is not consent,” she retorted, still softly, but into her bed covers this time. She wrapped it around herself even more so that only the tip of her head peaked out from under. If she ignored him enough, then maybe he would leave her alone.

“Hebe let me in.” He was smiling, she could tell.

Then, without warning, the covers were pulled off of her in one quick but harsh pull. He had gathered the entirety of it into his arms, leaving her without warmth, and Lyra curled into herself. She finally opened her eyes to glare at him, and once again, he looked just as surprised as earlier.

With a barely contained annoyance, she pushed herself up and attempted to take back her blanket. His grasp looked loose, but his strength was assertive. She would not win. Lyra gave up. It was too early to fight with him, and she leaned down onto her side to hold her head in her hand. She could already feel the headache coming. 

It hadn’t been long since she woke, but she felt as though she could not even remember a semblance of her dream… 

“Lyra?” he asked once more, seemingly concerned for her strange behaviour—but his was equally as strange, she thought. It was rare for him to be this concerned for another human being, at least outwardly. 

She ignored his sympathy to roll away from him and towards the opposite side of the bed. Her bare feet landed onto the ground and she grabbed the robe at the foot of her bed.

“You’ve come looking for brother?” She tossed her hair out from underneath the robe, falling in gentle waves down her back. “But this is clearly the wrong room, and therefore, Canis would not be here.”

When they were children, they might have shared a bedroom. Back then, it was the only way that either of them could fall asleep. But they were no longer children anymore, and they did not need to fear the darkness anymore. Now, the monsters that they needed to fear were not the ones that occupied the night.

“It’s you whom I’ve come looking for.”

She was in front of him now. Lyra grabbed the covers again, but this time, he let them go without a fuss. Then, she began to make her bed.

“Remember to close the door when you leave.” He had already seen her, and therefore, he should leave now.

He ignored her and began to assist with making her bed. “I was told that you have already been here for over a month. You still haven’t gotten used to the weather here?”

He was referring to her sleeping clothes: a pale blue in colour, but layered, full-length, with fur trims on the hem, sleeves, and around her collar. 

Lyra was born in a hot climate. Putting her by the water? Wasn’t that akin to telling her to go freeze herself? 

“I would rather not,” she said. Getting used to the weather meant that she would need to stay a long time, and she had no intention to stay in Leicester for longer than necessary.

When they finished making her bed, Claude plopped onto the winkle-free covers. He grinned at her even when she sent him an angry look, but she had no chance to reprimand him. 

“Did you bring any riding clothes?” he asked.

His grin widened—triumphantly this time.

An hour and a half later, Lyra met him by the stables. They were not going on a far trip, so they not take their wyverns with them. Claude also had his own horse, but Lyra had to borrow one for herself even when he suggested that they could share one. 

He took her to the port. Of all places, she thought unhappily, he took her to the port. Where the winds were strong and the air smelled of salt.

She sneezed, and then glared at him. 

Claude laughed, but extended his hand out to her and helped her down her horse. She did not take it, but when they reached the rocks, he grabbed her hand with one of his own, and led her through the rocky path. The cove that they claimed was not private, but it was far away from the main beaches that it was desolate enough. 

It was small, with only enough room for a handful of people. But towards the cliffs that encircled the cove, she saw remnants of an abandoned bonfire. A circle of rocks remained even with the passing of time, though the ashes of firewood no longer existed. 

She thought that this was a nice place to fish and grill… 

It was… different from what she was used to. The capital of Almyra was large with many unique landscapes, but it was surrounded by endless prairies if not sand itself. There were some forests nearby, and even some mountains, but the bodies of water were small and scarce. The largest one closest to the capital was still a few days away.

They… rode out here for this?

While she had been observing the scenery, Claude had loitered here and there, looking for any instruments that he could use to light a small fire. It was daytime, but the water was still cold, and she could feel it in the air. Though, unlike earlier, there was no rush of wind—but if there were any, then most were blocked by the cliffs. 

When he was settled, he threw a match into the pit. It crackled to life and then immediately burst into flames, and he looked at her expectantly with a proud look on his face, as if to tell her, “ _Look at me and look at the useful skills that I have learnt._ ”

She did not respond even as she walked towards the fire pit and settled herself onto the sand.

“Why did you take me out here, Claude?” 

He shrugged. “I figured that you must have been bored.”

The sea was calm today. It was odd being simultaneously cold and warm at the same time, but there was no denying how peaceful it was. It was quiet save for the distant cawing of seagulls and the cracking of the fire.

She turned to Claude, and saw that he also had his eyes closed. 

Then, similar to this morning, their eyes met. He did not speak, and so, neither did she. For a moment, she thought that she saw a flicker of a warm wind through golden dunes before it plunged into darkness and all that she saw was green. An endless, unfathomable green.

“Captivated by my good looks?” He broke through the spell with a grin. “I seem to recall you staring at me with this same expression earlier…”

He had a hand stretched towards her. In it was a bota bottle, and a small parcel. She took them both and found some dried fruits in the parcel, and clear water in the bottle.

“I was just thinking,” she started, as she bit into a dried apricot; he stared at her patiently. “You still wear your braid.”

It was not what he was expecting, and as shameless as Claude was, red tinged at the tips of his ears. His fingers reached to the strand by the side of his head, and then he turned to glance at her. She did not have hers anymore, and his surprise overcame any embarrassment that he might have had.

“I must have forgotten…” He said, “But that’s unimportant. When did _you_ take yours out?”

In Almyra, it was a tradition amongst nobles. A single braid followed children through their youth until they were deemed appropriate to venture off into independence. If one still retained their braid into adulthood, it meant that they were incapable of independence, and therefore ineligible to start their own family. The specifics varied, but there were typically a few rite of passages: the first was a maiden battle; the second was a blessing from the holy; and the third was a pledge. 

A maiden battle was the first time that anyone entered a fight and came out successful. Claude had his when he was fourteen years old, but his was different from typical battles. He was a child of the King, and, like all royal children of Almyra, their maiden battles were different. At fourteen, he was thrust into a forest on the outskirts of the city to survive for an entire month all by himself. Only those with the blood of the royal family could enter the grounds, and only those with the very same blood could leave. On the night of the new moon, if he made it to the forest guardian’s resting spot, then he would fight a battle until the death. If he survived, then he was worthy; if he died, then his existence would be marked out of the genealogy books.

Meanwhile, Lyra had been slightly older than him when she fought her first battle. It was a mock fight between her and the relics of the high mages of the country, and was not as intense as Claude’s. She did not need to fight until the death, but she did need to defeat all four of them in the same battle in order to claim victory. 

The reason for them to fight was to show that they were strong enough to defend themselves and their loved ones if needed.

The second requirement meant that they were compassionate and in tune with the world around them. It was the same for both men and women: they had to perform a dance around fire. The larger the flames flickered, the more that the mystic universe accepted them. At the end of the dance, they would sacrifice a cut of blood into the fire. If the flames spit the blood out, then they were rejected.

Lyra had performed her dance when she was thirteen, to an unofficial audience, but her blood had burned the brightest that any of the witnesses had ever seen, and her flames flicked high into the sky that day, under a daytime waning moon.

If they were able to love the world, then the world would love them back. If they were able to love others, then certainly, others would love them back.

The last requirement was not as mystic. It was an oath to Almyra: a pledge of allegiance to the country and an acknowledgement of citizenship. 

Naturally, as children of Almyra, both she and Claude had completed the third requirement. 

When Claude left, Lyra had only completed the second and third. He hadn’t seen her dance, but he had heard tales of it, and it always bothered him that he had missed it.

As for her maiden battle… This too, he was bothered to have missed.

She touched her own hair. “It must have been half a year ago…” Just before she turned seventeen. She hadn’t planned on it, but, Canis had suggested that she get it out of the way. He did not have any plans to marry her off yet, but, it did not hurt to see what options she would entice.

“…Have you had any offers?”

She stared at him, incensed. When it came from his lips, it sounded as though it were a bad thing for her to receive any marriage offers. As though it were impossible.

He put his hands into the air. “I’m merely stating… You _are_ Lyra Leveret… Whomever could be worthy of your hand in marriage?”

She was not convinced. “Do tell your future spouse that I share the same sentiment.” Word for word; in the same disbelieving, unconvincing tone. 

He laughed and threw his arms behind him, his palms flat onto the ground, gaze fastened into the sky. “Man,” he sighed, “you really know how to make a poor lad nostalgic, don’t you?”

She stared. 

“Hadn’t you worn the colours from Almyra yesterday on purpose?”

So he _did_ notice. Of course she wanted him to. It was as he said: she had wanted to reminded him that although he had gone to reclaim his Fodlan heritage, he was still part Almyran. He could disregard anything else, but once upon a time, she and Canis were as close to him as his own family. Perhaps even more.

How would she ever let him forget his old blood in favour of the new?

“So what if I did?” She had done it; why wouldn’t she admit it? “I am not responsible for the way that you feel. That’s a result of your own conscience.”

Who was the one who left without saying a thing? Who was the one who ran away? Who was the one that let cowardice and fear control him enough to abandon those who loved and cared for him? He made his decision that day, and anything that happened as a result of his choice was his own responsibility. 

She was angry—rightfully so, but when she saw the astonished look in his eyes, she looked away. She hadn’t meant to sound so mean and bitter.

“Yeah… You’re right.” He agreed quietly, but even for Claude, there was no help hiding the longing in his voice. She wanted to sneer at him and reprimand him some more—what was the point in longing now? He had it within his grasp, once upon a time, but when she glanced back at him from the corner of her eyes and saw that he was once again staring off into the distance of endless, peaceful ocean waves underneath the drifting clouds, she could not bring herself to be cruel.

“It’ll be the same when you come back,” she whispered. “It’s the same as it always has been.”

“…Is that so?”

She nodded silently, and followed the gentle waves with her eyes. “…You’ll be an uncle when you return.”

“Sol and Jemima?”

She shook her head. “Araya and Kali.” The second prince and his wife… Only older than Lyra and Claude by a few years. 

“Shame,” he lamented. “It might give Jemima some peace of mind if they were to have a child… She would have been a good mother, I am sure.”

Lyra did not think so. Sol and his wife had married for political reasons, even though Jemima had always admired him and had affections for him. But who in the palace —in the capital— did not know that the eldest prince held no affections for his wife? He was aloof and reticent. If not for her noble background and for the pressure on him to marry, then it was almost certain that he would not marry willingly at the age that he did.

Even if they could produce a child, who was to say that she would not use it as a pawn? Whether it was for Sol’s affections or to secure her place in the imperial family… And if she were to fail, then how miserable would both mother and child be? 

She plucked a piece of dried persimmon from the parcel, and chewed on it slowly. It was sweet, but fresh, likely made only recently…

“As for Sol… he is also the same.” He had always been consistent in his endeavours, quietly doing his job diligently. Amongst the people, he was still known as the noble first prince. 

It wasn’t obvious yet, but those related to the imperial family knew that tension was brewing between the first and second prince. 

While Sol remained ever loyal and by his father’s side, Araya and Kali were campaigning around the country, seemingly on behalf of the King. They fought off bandits and pushed back invaders; distributed funds and brought along with them rations; even had the ability to stop earthquakes and cease droughts. Some said that temples and holy places were built in their honour; dances and plays created to immortalize the legend of the People’s Prince and Princess.

But while campaigning, their less-than-a year old son was absent of his mother and father, left alone to the caretakers in the palace. Such glorious, heartwarming people could bear to leave their own flesh and blood behind? 

As reckless as she was, Lyra did not voice her last few thoughts to Claude, and only stated what was fact. He did not need to hear her unpleasant thoughts of his brother and sister-in-law.

Suddenly, he turned to her. Asking without asking… It was clear that he wanted more, and she rolled her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up, but he was giving her that annoying look similar to a wounded puppy. 

“…They’re doing well.” She said, even though he had not directly asked. Even though their son had essentially run away, imposed a self-exile upon himself, they were still doing well. Living each day freely, happily… 

He was silent, then, suddenly burst into laughter. She did not know what he was thinking, but, it must not have been pleasant to know that everyone was doing well without him. Claude’s absence was of no effect on his own family, less so on his parents.

“Why do you persist in hearing this when you already know the answer?” she asked. Someone like Claude, with his intelligence and all of his resources… She would not be the first to divulge this information to him.

“How could I know?” he smiled, a mask of indifference upon his face, as though he, similarly, were not affected by the absence of his family.

How could he _not_ know? When he was the first to make the move, setting things into motion; a catalyst of event after event after event caused by his initial move. A single piece on the board that had the power to overthrow the knights; the queens; the kings. A wild card; a pawn—but even a pawn could move like a general. Better yet, perhaps, because no one kept a disposable piece in mind. No one put much value or emphasis on a piece that was disposable, and thus ignored it until it moved out of expectation. 

He could have chosen to escape to any place in the world, but he chose Leicester and Fodlan, where he would learn to become a warlord and an Heir and a Duke—and a king of his own right. Where he would learn to occupy another throne before he would occupy the one he truly wanted. 

Claude knew how to play the game, but Lyra knew how to cheat. 

He could play a fool, and so could she.

“Isn’t it because you know everything?” 

“I know as much as you do.”

If she knew a thousand different words, then he also knew a thousand different words. If she knew only a single phrase, then he would also only know a single phrase.

Her eyes narrowed.

“No,” she would not let him have this. “We are not the same.”

No matter how hard he tried to make it seem that way, she was not the same as him. Lyra was free, and she refused to be pulled into his schemes. 

“Take me back.”

Claude stayed seated. “So soon? I was hoping that we could sit here for a while longer, watch the idle clouds pass by… We used to do this all the time back then, don’t you remember?”

A boy on a large hill that overlooked the entire palace—the entire capital. A storm that surrounded them every which way and a statue of an oversized deer to use as a shelter. Hidden underneath its long legs, under the belly of the deer, were a boy a girl waiting for the vicious clouds to part in order for the storm to pass, unknowing at the time that it was an encounter that would haunt them for an entire lifetime.

 _She_ was not the one who needed to remember.

He stayed unmoving.

When he finally turned around, he saw that she was leaving without him, and his own eyes narrowed. Everything that she had said to him… was public knowledge. Nothing new; nothing important. 

But everything that Claude knew… was the same as Lyra.

* * *

Lyra was still angry at Claude when they returned to the castle. She ignored him the entire way back, even when he tried to appease her with lighthearted jokes and compliments. 

Even when the banquet was laid out and she sat only a few tables away from him, the aromatic food could not appease her. It did not help that the feast was in honour of Claude returning to Derdriu to officially take on his role as the heir apparent. Nevertheless, she stayed for the opening speeches and greetings. The boy whom she had seen yesterday — the one with violet hair — had also stood up to introduce himself as an official representative of House Gloucester. 

By chance, their eyes met, and his lips curled into a handsome smile, but Lyra returned his gesture with another unfriendly look. 

She finally found an opportunity to leave the hall sometime after the first course was brought out. Naturally, she made sure to tell Hebe to bring some to her room later, but at the moment, she could not stomach being around so many people. Thus, she wandered around the castle, and found herself outside. 

Lyra had only wanted to get some fresh air, but who would have known? It seemed, even her brother and Claude had the same thoughts…

She watched as they stood by a stone wall surrounded by some shrubbery, whispering quietly to each other before Canis glanced around. She did not need to, but Lyra found herself hiding behind a column anyway, and she waited.

After a few seconds, when she turned around, she saw that her brother and Claude no longer stood where they were.

“Miss Leveret.”

She whirled around only to see Lorenz standing before her. He smiled, and introduced himself the same formal way that she had seen other Fodlan nobles greet one another. “I am sorry to scare you, but are you alright?”

“Yes, I am.” She wished that he would go away immediately. If they chatted for too long, wouldn’t her brother and Claude be finished? “I stepped out to get some fresh air, is that not alright?”

He seemed taken aback by her hostile tone. “My apologies. I did not mean to be rude,” he said. “Perhaps… are you not accustomed to the food here? Are celebrations much different in Almyra than in Leicester? I had always imagined that, given the way that Claude reminiscences on the festivities of your home, that ours would pale in comparison…”

“You are not wrong.” She really wanted to bluntly tell him to get lost, but a part of her considered that he might turn on her if she did.

“…Are you looking for your brother?”

She was not expecting this. Her glare once again formed a harsh fixture on her delicate face. 

“What?”

“I only mention your brother because I had seen him come out this way.”

“You saw wrong.” Lorenz might have been smiling at her, but his eyes were sharp. She recognized that self-imposing look in his eyes. He might have had a silly haircut and an ostentatious dress style, but he was still a noble — one from Fodlan, nonetheless, and Lyra would be foolish to underestimate him in any way. “If my brother came out, then it was not in this direction.”

“Are you sure?” he was frowning now, as though he had reason to suspect her. 

She stayed firm. “Yes, I am certain. Perhaps you can check around the corner. I am looking for Canis myself, so if you do see him, then do let him know that I require a talk with him.”

Lorenz watched her, but she did not falter underneath his gaze. He finally took the hint and agreed to leave, but not before once again apologizing if he seemed rude.

Lyra was certain that she was even ruder than he was, but she did not make any apologies herself. Instead, she waited to see that he was indeed gone, and even when he turned the corner, she counted down the seconds. 

After a long while, her feet began to move.


	3. Infinity in Your Palm

The platoon that they travelled with had been small to begin with, but the soldiers that currently followed them was even smaller. When Lyra and Canis left Almyra for Fodlan, they had only taken a company of two dozen personal soldiers. Including the two siblings and Hebe, they made for a group of twenty-seven people. 

Currently, they had taken only half of their own personnel. Hebe, as well as the rest of their soldiers, had been stationed back in Derdriu. Similar to others who were also in a position of power and authority, Canis also had two main retainers. The first was Zidane who remained in Almyra to act on behalf of Canis. In his absence, Zidane handled all matters relating to House Leveret and represented Canis during more formal gatherings. 

His second lead retainer was Mahir who had come along with them to Leicester. Technically speaking, Canis should not have needed to personally see to the matters at the border. However, when Claude had been tasked to the matter, Canis had thought it suitable for himself to go as well. In the end, Mahir had also remained in Derdriu to act on behalf of Canis. 

As the task contained a high degree of secrecy pertaining to Claude’s identity, the soldiers that they had brought along with them had only been recruited roughly a year or so prior to the journey. As a result, they likely had no such privilege of putting a face to the Third Prince of Almyra. They likely only knew his name, and it differed from the one that he used in Fodlan.

As for Mahir and Hebe, they had been sworn to secrecy. Although Zidane was Canis’ first right-hand, he had not been informed on the specifics of Canis’ venture into Fodlan. He only knew that it was at the behest of the King’s orders that Canis was subject to the matter. 

Although the amount of soldiers that were on Lyra’s side were on par with the ones from Fodlan, Lyra felt greatly discomforted in the fact. Directly ahead of her was Canis, then, to his right was Claude. Behind them were two lines of foot soldiers. On her side, the ones from Almyra; and on Lorenz’s side, the ones from Fodlan. Directly beside Lyra —to her even greater discomfort— rode Lorenz. Every now and then, he would glance at her. It had been subtle in the beginning, but after a while, he cared naught to put on anymore airs and blatantly stared at her, as if he could dissect her every being with just a look. 

He couldn’t, of course. Not unless he was omnipotent, which was even more improbable. After all, if he were, then he would have known that she had lied the other evening and he would have persisted in following Claude and Canis.

To Lyra’s knowledge, Gloucester was located in the heart of the Alliance. The lands that they occupied were large and vast, but none of its borders trespassed upon either Faerghus or Adrestria, let alone Almyra. They had no jurisdiction over Fodlan’s Throat nor any of the territories that coasted along it. However, Lorenz had still been permitted to travel with them. 

Had she known that he would, she would have declined her brother’s suggestion for her attendance. 

Some days after the banquet, Canis had sought her out. The two siblings often made time for each other even back in Almyra, so the same had applied in Derdriu. Once again, when he sought her, it was with an intent. He dismissed Hebe from their presence, and then told Lyra that Claude had been officially tasked to resolve the matters between the two countries. He was to represent Duke Reigan on one hand, and on the other, show his might as the heir of not only his house, but also to the Alliance. 

After a few private talks, Claude and Canis had agreed to collaborate on the investigations. He informed her of his plans and designations. Now that Claude was able to act as a liaison for Canis, he intended to finish the task quickly. Then, he told her to come with them.

It was no request, though she did not quite understand why he had suggested it. After all, Lyra had never been required at the front lines before. 

“You need not come, of course,” he said, only after her inquiry. “Only, if you choose to stay in Derdriu, then I will take Mahir with me to assist in battle, and you will be my representative at the round table.”

The decision was simple. She had disdained most people on a regular basis. She hardly had a tolerance for her foes. After all, if they were not an ally to either she nor her brother, then Lyra was hard pressed to consider them in a good light. 

When she considered all of this, and once again saw Lorenz’s flashy appearance beside her, she glared. 

Her only consolation were the sights of Fodlan. Not that it was any better than the lands in Almyra by a marginal degree — she much preferred her homeland — but at the very least, it wasn’t decadent. The fields were lush, and less chilly than Derdriu. 

And, if she turned to her right, then she would be devoid of Lorenz’s ostentatious appearance, and could imagine that she were among the prairies of Almyra. 

She could feel the warm sun breeze warp around her being like a coat of fur. The golden dunes came after the verdant fields ended and faded into rocks before they were separated by a river that flowed for miles and miles. On one end: plains that housed wild creatures and forests in abundance. Where the forest creatures would trek towards the sound of running water to satiate their thirst, and a grand eagle would soar above. High into the crown of trees before it emerged through and scattered leaves in its wake. It would fly without a purpose and then the greens would unearth the sand. Golden deserts that went on even longer than the fields prior; a comforting warmth like sitting around a bonfire after a night of celebration that quickly rose into an almost unbearable heat as the earth became raw. 

Inconsequential things came to mind, like the boiling visage of success upon seeing her destination in sight. The capital of Almyra was within sight, and she could distinctly envision the drops of dew from the gifted lotus flowers in the palace garden. It was cooler there, where a pavilion was stationed in the middle of the pond. Cypress trees gated the garden, and the humming of dragonfly wings buzzed low in her ear as it flew over the pond. 

It was so palpable, as though the buzzing were right beside her; as though she were in that very garden at that very moment.

Suddenly, the horse beneath her stumbled. She jolted conscious, glaring around her.

“Careful,” Claude teased, beside her now. She hadn’t realized that he must have slowed his pace to ride between her and Lorenz. “If you fall and get hurt, I can only do my utmost as a young, respectable man and carry the burden of allowing you to ride with me.”

In the distance, she thought that she heard a droplet of water falling from a cypress tree. Had it rained recently? The grounds were smooth and dry. She would have noticed earlier if they were wet. 

But the only trees in sight were cedar, and were a ways off into the distance. And when her horse walked over a few fallen leaves, crunching could be heard. 

It clearly hadn’t rained in days. 

She breathed out, then, finally turned to Claude with half-lidded eyes, as though she had just truly woken from a dream. She caught Lorenz staring at her although Claude blocked most of his view, and decided to ignore his lingering stare. 

“I would rather walk than ride with you, Claude.” 

“It _is_ fine weather for a walk, isn’t it?” he agreed, as though she hadn’t been rejecting him. “The earth has the sea and mountains, but the sea has its rain, and the mountains its trees. Flowers fight along the wind, but the one who stands above… Just watches and laughs.”

Was that meant to be a jab at her? She was certain that it was. The poem was written by a scholar from Almyra, speaking of the attachments that others held onto. But, the one that stood above had no attachments, and thus, was therefore able to laugh at everything below them.

Others might have called her dull, but lethargy was also a luxury. She could afford it, so why wouldn’t she appreciate idleness? 

She detested speaking in euphemisms most days; doing so with Claude was even more of a chore. He wasn’t the type that one could force. Claude was open to persuasion, but not coercion. Speaking with him bluntly and directly was always the best case scenario lest he decide to take any other manner of speech to his advantage.

“The earth has the sea and mountains, but the sea has its rain, and the mountains its trees. The sky has the sun and moon, but the sun has its clouds, and the moon its stars. For thousands upon thousands of miles, I walk… In search for when the earth can meet the sky.

War stretches from border to border. The blood of the people follow in its path, and even the earth has joined in its chaos. Flowers fight for an empty glory, but the one who stands above them… Just watches and laughs.”

Claude had mixed up the poems, and though she suspected that he had done it on purpose — both were written by the same person, after all — she thought to correct him anyway. Some things, no matter how hard one tried, could not be determined by sheer will and force. In life, was there ever a need to fight for such inconsequential things like fame and glory? The world was in chaos and people were dying every single day. If one couldn’t fight for the greater good, then, she thought, they shouldn’t fight at all. 

Knowing one’s limits was not necessarily the same as ignorance. For Claude to imply otherwise was insulting, and she glared at him.

“You’ve gotten your poems mixed up,” she said. 

He pretended to be surprised, with a mock expression of horror. Then, he laughed jovially. “See? You _do_ know more than me.”

Her teeth gritted. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of her brother’s back. He had also slowed down, and the distance between them was closing. 

Any nasty words that she might have thrown at Claude were withheld, and she looked away. 

“How about you take a walk with me through the marketplace later?” he suggested, changing the subject. 

It wasn’t as though she were going to take him seriously, but Lorenz did, and he suddenly joined the conversation.

“While it would do me no greater pleasure than to once again refer to yet another proven example as to why you are not fit to rule, as a concerned citizen, I must remind you that this task of ours at hand is of the utmost priority.” To emphasize the point, he stared at Claude with a sharp look. “If you make any mistake or dilly-dally, such as _going on walks that you are not supposed to_ , I, as a member of council, can only do my part but to report back of your shortcomings.”

Lyra was certain now that he had intended to eavesdrop in on her brother’s conversation with Claude the other evening. She had suspected their peculiar relationship, given that Lorenz followed Claude everywhere, but prior to now, she hadn’t had any evidence to support her suspicions. As a result, Lyra was rather surprised to hear him admit it aloud.

As much as she disliked Lorenz, her lips twitched in threat of a smile. She had known others who were eloquent and had sharp tongues, but she had never quite heard anyone use such convoluted verbose to speak of ratting someone else out.

“I had thought that people from Fodlan were spineless and cowardly,” she said, catching the bewildered look that danced upon suspicion in Claude’s eyes, “But I concede enlightenment upon witnessing your words just now, Lord Lorenz. It isn’t very often that one can witness such a genteel manner of speaking, especially when it is to admit surveillance of one under a microscopic level. Hardly a great many men can muster that level of dubious dedication. Your foresight is surely no less than a tumblebug, young Lord.”

She hadn’t even waited to see their response before she rode forward, even riding past her brother to wander off on her own.

Behind her, Lorenz and Claude remained rooted. Lorenz went pale, then red, and his mouth parted though he found himself unable to formulate a proper response. 

Meanwhile, Claude found it difficult to control his amusement. He was just glad that he hadn’t been not he receiving end of her venom this time. He stowed away a mental note in the back of his mind, that if he should ever choose to tease and annoy Lyra in the future, then it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have Lorenz in company. 

“Excuse my sister,” Canis said, having kept an ear on their conversation. He slowed his pace to allow the others to catch up to him. “Lyra has been catered to her entire life. She rarely sees anyone or anything a delight. Even a tumblebug is capable of eating other stuff when it needs to, I’m sure.”

He had said it so earnestly that it was difficult to discern what Canis’ intention had been. At least Lyra was aware of her own nasty temper and one could typically assume that any difficult-sounding words from her were incited due to her displeasure. Canis, his blessed heart, while he likely had good intentions, unfortunately, was likely not much better than her when it came to his speech that was also as unpleasant to the ears.

This time, Claude finally burst into a guffaw of laughter, leaving Lorenz no face at all.

When they reached their next destination, the young nobles as well as a few soldiers had found residence at a local inn. The others camped outside of the village so as to save on expenses and to cover more ground. Once they were settled, Canis had suggested that they scout the village first. He had intended to take his sister, but Claude had interrupted and offered to partner up with Lyra instead. 

He had already taken her hand and pulled her out of the inn before anyone could protest. 

“Let’s go before Lorenz catches us.” He winked at her, and she frowned, but did not object. Lorenz had still been settling in when she, Claude, and Canis had convened together. As a result, he was not part of their meeting.

He dragged her down the street, weaving in through narrow alleys and throngs of people, as though he were well-acquainted with the area.

“Do you even know where you are going?” she asked.

He shrugged, nonchalance on his shoulders, and adventure in his eyes. “I’m just following the people. You’ll remember the way back, won’t you?”

She scoffed, and rolled her eyes. Of course she would. It wasn’t a difficult task for herself, but she knew that it wasn’t a challenge for Claude either. He had found his way out of even more complex labyrinths before. This should not prove difficult for him. 

Nevertheless, his pursuit was a good idea. Shortly thereafter, they found themselves in a busy and bustling street. There were plenty of people around, though not quite enough that they were shoulder-to-shoulder with them. He led her naturally, as though this was something that they had done frequently, and for a moment, Lyra did not think of how they were surrounded by stalls instead of mats to sell upon. She did not scoff at how the tricks of entertainers were simple but forthright, and did not think of how the silly people of Fodlan would have been easily ensnared by the more complicated yet deceitful street entertainers in Almyra. 

Briefly, she remembered a time where she and Claude had wandered through similar streets, once again hand in hand. But he was not wearing those western clothing that were fitted and tailored with simple patterns. Instead, he wore loose outfits that allowed him effortless movement and were bright and colourful, and mirrored the wonder in his eyes and easy going smile on his lips. 

He was smiling at her now, but it was flimsy and, just like those street entertainers in Almyra, deceitful.

She pulled her hand away, harshly and abruptly. 

In a large wok over an open fire, a merchant had poured a spoonful of a starchy white-yellow substance. He spread it around the steel and rotated it for a few seconds. It quickly baked into a thin sheet, and she watched as he added in some toppings into the centre. Then, he folded it up neatly. It looked like some sort of pancake, she thought; similar to the stuffed naan breads from Almyra but more suited for those with a sweet tooth…

A little boy had purchased it happily, then went off on his way.

“So what kind of toppings can you put, mister?” Claude stood in front of the merchant now, grinning happily, sending her an obvious wink. 

“What would you like?” 

“Why don’t we get a bit of everything?” he looked at Lyra, but Lyra had hardly paid him any attention. She was too busy salivating over the aroma of the freshly made wrapped and the fruits in display… Claude laughed —and for once, Lyra hadn’t glared at him— but affirmed his suggestion to the man. 

When it was finished, Claude paid for the snack and held it out for her. Lyra considered it for a second, but when she saw his goading look, she finally took a bite. It was… good. Really good. Crispy on the outside but light and fluffy on the inside, and the fruits were fresh. _So_ incredibly fresh. 

She hadn’t realized that she was smiling in delight. She would have purred too, but caught herself before she indulged too much. She finally pulled away, and Claude brought it to his lips. He bite into it and even though his mouth was still full, he expressed his contentment. “Mm!” He had his eyes closed, and he was smiling—though Lyra had a feeling that it was exaggerated. “S’good.”

They moved further down the street and eventually stopped in front of another stall. This time, the merchant made steamed buns. Some of the buns had sweeter fillings, while others had meat.

By chance, through the corner of her eye, she spotted Canis and Lorenz some ways behind them. It seemed that Lorenz hadn’t appreciated being ditched, and once he spotted them, he frowned. He was heading towards them with a heavy stride and for a moment, Lyra thought that he certainly could be intimidating if he wanted to be.

She snuck a glance to Claude, curious about his reaction, but his back was still turned to them so he did not notice either her brother nor Lorenz pursuing.

Her feet already began to move before he could notice. It was fine. Lorenz was monitoring Claude, not Lyra. Getting involved with their matters was not something that she looked forward to.

She had only taken a step back when Claude turned to her. Two buns were in his mouth, causing his cheeks to look overstuffed, and he looked at her with wide, unassuming eyes. He looked utterly foolish, and she might have actually laughed if she wasn’t expecting for Lorenz to reach them any second now.

But when she turned to where they should have been, she saw that Canis was conveniently pulling Lorenz away into another direction. Judging by how Lorenz was not protesting, she assumed that Canis had said something convincing.

“Claude,” she said, looking away from them and back up to Claude. He had just taken the last bite out of another bun when she addressed him, and he swallowed thickly when she caught him. “What are you doing?”

“Wanna try?” The answer should have been obvious, but Lyra merely responded with a glare. 

She might have wanted a bite, but there was nothing left now, and she wasn’t going to argue for it. Nevertheless, she wondered if he was being obtuse on purpose. 

“This might be another one of your “traversing the lands”, but some people intend to take this task seriously,” she said.

He dusted off his hands, then smiled charmingly at her. “Of course not,” he said. “But who says that we can’t investigate around, and while doing so, enjoy ourselves? Isn’t it much more comfortable now that Lorenz isn’t trailing us anymore?”

To exaggerate the fact, he stretched widely, as though he had been confined to a tight space for too long.

So it turned out… He had noticed that Canis had taken Lorenz away. All the more, wasn’t that reason for them to do their job diligently? Since the other two had split off, and if Claude was therefore more comfortable by Lorenz’s absence, then it should have meant that he was more enticed to doing his job.

She crossed her arms over chest. “Isn’t what you truly want to say is that we can enjoy ourselves while investigating around?”

He pretended to be shocked. “It’s not the same thing?”

It clearly wasn’t. One took precedence over the other, but she knew that Claude understood this even without her explaining so. 

“Claude,” she warned. 

He stared, then smiled but didn’t say anything. Him being coy like this was more irritating than she had wanted, but she had enough tact not to engage him further. 

Well, it was no matter. If this was what he saw fit, then she wasn’t going to argue with him. In the end, it had nothing to do with her. 

She looked around. Her eyes landed onto a strange stall that looked to be selling some sort of sugared figurine. She was curious about it, and approached. Claude followed along and paid for it when she instructed the seller.   
Once again, she took a hesitant. Lyra loved sweet things, but worried if it was too sweet for even herself… 

Much to her delight, the treat was also very good. It was sweet, but not as sugary as she had assumed. It was mixed with fruity scents, which made any sugar not as powerful. 

Claude waited. She sensed his stare on her, and, with a roll of her eyes, held it out for him. “You hold it.” She was willing to let him try it —after all, he had paid for it— but she wasn’t going to serve him.

He took it happily. Lyra didn’t wait to see his reaction before she strove forward, and began to take in the sights around them.

The marketplace was not much different than her imagination. They were similar to the ones in Derdriu. The pathways were less cobblestone and more gravel, but wide nonetheless. Merchants were still of the pale and fair-skinned majority, though she did see a few odd ones here and there. None of the items sold were terribly exotic, either. The majority of the items sold were suitable for common life according to Leicester’s standards. 

By Leicester’s standards, everything looked normal.

“What do you think?” Claude appeared beside her, his hands empty. He had finished the rest of her snack. _Again._

This time, she did not reserve any niceties. “I think that you have no proper bearings as a young Lord,” she scolded. “Who, other than you, would steal a meal from a woman? As though you are a beggar.”

“You wound me,” he placed a hand to his heart. “I meant about the village.”

She had known what his intentions were, but, if it were so ordinary, then what was there to complain about? It was more important to nip her situation with Claude in the bud before he could steal her food again. 

“It’s peaceful here.” Considering that it was only a few towns away from the border, the folk and lifestyle here seemed at ease. It was of no interest to her. “Are you going to buy me another one?”

“Gee, can’t you be serious for once?” he chastised, but when he saw her frown, he offered her a jingle of his pouch. “You know, if you’re not careful, someone might just snatch you up.”

He looked at her as though she might have understood what he was implying, but Lyra hadn’t taken the bait. She swiped his pouch instead.

“Claude,” she said, as she weighed the pouch in her palm. It was surprisingly heavy despite how small it looked. She almost wanted to ask him if he carried his entire fortune with him, but she could already expect his response, so she opted not to. “If I went missing, then I think you would be the first to celebrate. With a feast, no less.”

He gaped at her, then concluded, “You’re right. Though, if only to revitalize my energy to put all of my strength and effort into retrieving you back!” 

He laughed, but Lyra found no amusement. He never reserved his tact when it came to her, seemingly able to find amusement in nearly any situation. 

She frowned at him. Even without him telling her, Lyra had already been informed of the matter. Canis had told her that one of their concerns between the borders was related to human trafficking. Along with the invasions and skirmishes between rebels, bandits, and official soldiers, there had also been a number of those hoping to pass the border in the hopes of a better life. He hadn’t had much evidence on the matter, but had heard of some auctions pertaining to those who had been caught, along with exotic creatures and animals. 

It was the price of an unsteady government: it was always the civilians who suffered the most casualties. 

…But in the end, it had nothing to do with her. Lyra was neither government nor was she an average citizen. So what could she do? Even her attendance on this journey had only been at the behest of her brother, who likely only wanted to give her a way out from getting her hands too dirty with politics. 

Who didn’t know that her brother was already strong and intelligent, even without any support? 

After all, he had fought for his right for inheritance and won the battle at the age of 15.

He did not need Claude’s help. If they were in Almyra, Canis would have accomplished the task quickly and efficiently. But politics were a tricky thing: they were not in Almyra, and Canis was hard-pressed to act as he normally would have. 

After all, even if they were originally Almyran rebels and bandits who had done the invading, weren’t their people and creatures being sold to Fodlanese Lords and nobles? 

She fished out a few coins from Claude’s pouch, and returned him the rest. There was a fruit stand nearby that caught her attention. The owner did not look quite Fodlanese, nor did he look Almyran, but she was certain that the fruits on his stand were from her home. Canis had been stressed and unhappy recently, and she thought that these fruits might make him feel better.

She had only taken a step away from him when Claude obnoxiously pulled her back, making her stumble into his chest. “Careful,” he teased, his eyes twinkling. “What did I just say? Don’t stray too far from me.” He brought a hand under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes that were dark and almost threatening if she didn’t know any better. “A pretty girl like you… would certainly sell for a wicked trove of gold.”

Her mouth had just parted when an annoying voice shouted out. 

“There you two are!” Lyra peered over Claude’s shoulder and saw that Canis was nowhere in sight. She was surprised to consider the fact that Lorenz had actually been capable enough to ditch her brother. When she saw Lorenz’s once again dissatisfied and, this time, _definitely_ intimidating expression, she fell back onto her heel and pushed Claude away from her. Lorenz was his problem, not hers. 

Even from a short distance, she could hear Lorenz reprimanding Claude. Thankfully, he hadn’t gone after her, leaving her free to wander back to the stall she had spotted earlier. True as she had seen, there were fresh fruits native to Almyra. Dates and nuts that she hadn’t had in a while,; kiwis and pomegranates; as well as fresh persimmons—which, weren’t quite native to Almyra, but still a delicacy that she enjoyed whenever they were imported in. She was surprised to find them in the border village, and thought to purchase as many fruits as she could when someone had bumped into her. 

An old granny promptly fell, though not without a groan of pain. Lyra glanced down at her and saw that her groceries had fallen out of her basket. She hadn’t really intended to assist the granny, but then she started to notice other people staring and judging her. It wasn’t as though Lyra had pushed the woman; it was she who bumped into her… 

After a moment of contemplating, Lyra begrudgingly lowered herself to help the woman pick up her belongings.

“Sorry,” the granny said quietly. “My back just isn’t doing as well as it used to be.”

“Sure.” She didn’t care. She still had other things that she wanted to do. When she was finished packing the basket, she handed them over to the old woman, and assisted her in standing.

“My, this is awfully kind of you to help me… Would you mind helping me back to my house? I don’t live too far from here… I see that you are planning on buying those fruits? Actually, I have a grow a few of them in my garden. I wouldn’t mind giving you some, as a token of my appreciation.”

Lyra actually did mind, but when she glanced back and saw that Claude and Lorenz were still going at it, she considered otherwise. It should be fine. Lyra was grown; she wasn’t a child anymore. 

She nodded her head, and allowed the woman to lead her. 

They went down the path, and turned a corner. As they turned into the alleyway, Lyra bumped into a young couple. They looked similar in age and height, and must have been siblings, given how similar their eyes and hair were. Like the rest of this little village, they looked ordinary enough, but when she met eyes with the girl, she seemed entranced. Lyra’s eyes were a pale colour, in contrast to her darker skin, and stood out especially when framed by her dark locks. Not many people had such striking looks like her. 

They hadn’t stared at each other very long before Lyra redirected their attention back to the granny. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” she quickly responded, almost hastily, as she shook off the attention. “We should hurry along, m’dear. I still need to cook for my grand-children.”

Her face was shielded by the corners of alleyway, but the little light that still shone through was enough to reveal her face. 

Lyra turned back to the young kids with a glare. “You should watch where you’re going,” she scolded, and then continued to escort the woman away. 

Meanwhile, the siblings had stayed where they were. The boy, older of the two, said aloud, with contentment, “She’s the one that bumped into us…” 

When Lyra turned around, she saw that the children had also started to leave. As the alley closed in on them, in the distance, she could see the fading visages of Claude and Lorenz. They were still at the same stall from earlier, still in conversation with each other. It didn’t seem that they had noticed that she was gone. One by one, their images were painted over by the changing scenery and people in the marketplace. 

Then, before she turned around and they faded out of view completely, she thought, “ _Claude, I want to know how much you are willing to feast._ ”

On despair.

On fear.

On worry.

To know what it’s like to witness someone disappear right before your very eyes and know that you would be helpless to do anything. 

Then, she vanished, before Claude or Lorenz could really take notice.

Had she known that the consequences of her walking away would have been so severe, then perhaps, Lyra would have reconsidered. 

To begin with, perhaps Lyra should not have never ventured into this journey of hers. She should have never sought enlightenment into a situation that she had only surfaced. Yet, this was the price that one had to pay for knowledge. To seek detachment and avoid dispute was considered indifference, but some things, even if one pulled away, would only cause the binds to tighten. Indifference was not necessarily a means for freedom; it was simply exchanging one cage for an even bigger one.


	4. Physical Bodies

She hadn’t been sure what to expect when she went along with the granny, only that the possibility of everything going wrong was, naturally, a possibility.

For the most part, the granny was amiable enough. She didn’t overcompensate their silent walk with chatter, though she did ask Lyra a few general questions. Like what Lyra was doing in their small, unknown village—when really, Lyra knew that what she actually meant was “what is a person from _Almyra_ doing on _this_ side of the border?” 

When she asked about Lyra’s family and friends, Lyra responded vaguely. She only had a brother, but as for friends? They were just as few.

What she didn’t reveal was that it was by choice. Canis had been truthful in his words to Lorenz some hours ago; Lyra rarely saw anyone a delight. By extension, she rarely saw anyone fit to keep her company. Of course, with her personality, it was easy to assume otherwise. 

In the end, Lyra truly hadn’t answered much. She kept an eye on the turns that they made, and the people surrounding them. It felt similar to a labyrinth given by how many turns they made, but the amount of people started to become scarce the further that they ventured on. Eventually, they reached a gated house far away that was actually quite a distance away from the hustle and bustle of the marketplace. By now, less than a handful of people occupied the vicinity, and most of them were seedy looking even by Lyra’s typical high standards.

They paused at the entrance, where the granny thanked Lyra for her services. 

“Do you remember the way back, dearie? It has gotten quite late, hasn’t it? Would you like to rest for a little bit first?” she asked.

The way back was complicated, but Lyra was certain that she could manage. She declined the invite on principle alone, but the granny was persistent. She placed a hand atop of Lyra’s, and pulled her into the small courtyard. 

She hadn’t been expecting much, and it did not betray her expectations. The courtyard was simple. Devoid of much detail but it told Lyra enough. There wasn’t anything to consider of the granny, except that there were two possibilities: either the granny had lived modestly and humbly, or she truly didn’t live here at all. 

Lyra knew that the former was a non-possibility. Given the silk of her clothing and the gold ring on her finger, the granny was more than capable of flourishing her residence if she desired it. There was not even a tree in sight, let alone any fresh fruits. Lyra was certain that any garden that might have existed did not reside in this residence. 

She turned a sharp gaze to the granny, but it was too late. She should have expected it, really. Yet when she felt something hard hit the back of her head, Lyra had been utterly caught off guard. She toppled over as the pain quickly wracked her being. It came in rapid pulses, and as her vision faded, she saw the blurry image of the granny staring down at her. Not at all weak nor frail, and even as Lyra lost consciousness, the granny did not seem concerned. 

She had voiced something, but it was not directed to Lyra. It was directed to the person behind her — her assailant— and she witnessed as a heavy pouch was therein placed upon the granny’s awaiting hand. 

  
When she came to, it was with a pounding head. There was a lump on the back of her head that she could vividly feel even without touching it. Neither her hands nor legs were bound, but her surroundings were dark—pitch black, almost. Visibility was scarce except for the sunlight that peaked through tiny cracks between broken roof tiles, and through even tinier cracks from the boarded windows.

In spite of this, she was still able to make out shadows in the room.

There were others. Maybe a dozen or so. She wasn’t certain of the exact number, but she knew that there were more than a handful in the room with her.

She pushed herself up from the ground, cursing the damned granny in the back of her mind. Did they really have to hit her that hard? She didn’t know how much time had passed since, but it was a fact that her wound was incredibly painfull. 

“You’re awake?” 

There was a voice next to her, closer than she had assumed. She turned towards it just as a small flame appeared. Over it was another girl who didn’t look much older than Lyra, if not younger. Cinnabar hair and dark skin, but her eyes were green. They were a similar shade to fresh grass, clear and startlingly bright in the darkness of everything else. 

The flame itself was small, but controlled. The girl’s eyes hadn’t left Lyra the entire time, which meant that her concentration on the spell was effortless. She must have had some formal education, at the very least. Conflicting that speculation were the many calluses on her hands as well as the sun spots that littered her skin. She could not have been a noble, especially given how taut her skin was around her frame. Even her clothing were worn and torn. 

“How long have I been asleep?” Lyra asked, looking around the room. She counted at least 9 other people in the room, including herself and the stranger beside her. 

“They brought you in the day before yesterday, so almost two full days now,” the stranger replied.

Lyra squinted. No, she had been correct in her initial assumption. Twelve people were in the room—the other three were smaller girls, whose bodies were hidden behind others. It made her frown because they looked young. Had they even had their first monthly blood? The smallest could not have been older than 7 or 8 years old.

All of them had skin tones that made up the majority of those from Almyra.

She finally registered the girl’s words beside her. It had already been two days? It hadn’t been as though she had been abducted during the night; it was during the early afternoon, where sunlight was the strongest. Claude and her brother had clearly known about the situation in the village, so it made no sense that they would stagger in her rescue. 

“How did we get here? Do you have any idea of where we are? Or even who did this?” She knew that the questions were difficult to answer, but it was a belated realization that came to her. 

The girl shook her head. “Well, it seemed that most of us had tried to help out a woman… But in the end, this is what happened to us. Seems like she conned you too?”

Lyra scowled. She did not respond. Instead, she rose to wander around the room. Her legs were weak when she stood and she was careful not to bump into anything or anyone. The limited lighting through cracks in the boarded panels, and even tinier cracks in the rooftop, indicated that it was at least late afternoon. Though the panels by the entrance, she could make out some figures. Two in the courtyard—guards, likely. They didn’t look threatening, judging by their average builds, but Lyra had spotted the swords that they carried on their sides. 

Her frown deepened when she saw that one of the guards had a skin tone similar to her own and the others in the room with her. 

“Do you have a name?” the girl from earlier asked. She had followed Lyra’s movement, but her own was silent and barely noticeable. Lyra hadn’t noticed her until she was already beside her—and she didn’t like that. “I’m Selma,” she offered, likely as a means of coercion.

Selma was a common name. Too common, in fact; easy to blend in the crowd. To say that it was a fake wouldn’t have been an outrageous assumption especially given Claude’s own pseudonym, but the girl didn’t _look_ anything spectacular to be anything different than average. 

That was the problem—she didn’t _look_ memorable. None of these girls did. None of them had anything memorable on their bodies. It wasn’t uncommon for girls — or boys, really — to have at least some form of jewelry on them in Almyra. Almyra might have had its problems, but the country was rich in jewels and gold. They never lacked for currency in the obvious wealth; primarily only that of rations and unity.

“Lyra,” she finally replied, offering no more than her given name. She knew the answer, but she wanted to see what Selma knew. The girl seemed intelligent enough and wasn’t entirely intolerable. “Do you know why you are here?” 

“…We’ve heard stories,” Selma grimaced, and her voice went quieter so that only the both of them could hear. “Some threats were made, but… All the girls who left here never came back. But they haven’t treated us terribly. It’s not much, but they let us bathe every few days, and they feed us twice a day… When we need to use the restroom, they’ll accommodate…”

She hadn’t said it; Lyra had some tact not to, but there was a clear understanding in Selma’s gaze. _Their captors treated them well because they didn’t want their goods to be damaged._ Emotional manipulation at it’s best, Lyra thought; their captors were not the average hooligans. 

“Make no mistake,” she said, loudly, so that the other girls could hear as well. “It doesn’t matter how well they treat you. If they were so great to begin with, then why have they kidnapped you all to begin with?”

She spotted the frown on Selma’s lips—the first, during their entire interaction thus far. But Lyra didn’t mind. She was used to people disdaining her, and never made it her duty to appease others. 

Yet she hadn’t expected for Selma to counter with her next words, deserving as they were. The girl didn’t look the type to pursue confrontation; she looked more the type to take orders quietly.

“You say ‘you’, as if you are not one of us.”

The threat of a smile twitched on Lyra’s lips. Selma was quick.

She turned away, looking out at the guards once more. They were still keeping watch. The guard that she assumed was Almyran was stiff; his posture was rigid as though he were entrusted with a more serious duty. She easily spotted the keys on his side, dangling. 

“You’ve passed through Fodlan’s Throat, did you not?” she asked, turning her attention to the other guard. 

“How did you know?”

Dry skin and lips meant dehydration. Their clothes were simple, and none of them wore jewelry. Even if they could afford any back in Almyra, they had probably sold them off to their carriers to afford the passage fee. 

But the most obvious reason was: “You’re Almyran’s on _this_ side of the border. If you did not sneak over, then what are you doing here?”

No one answered. A silence washed over the group. Lyra did not mean to judge them, but she knew the truth just as well as any of them. Privileged as she was, she was not ignorant to the inner turmoil within the country. 

How many people shared in the opinion that Almyra was a lost country? Fodlan was foreign and scary, but for many people, it was a risk that they were willing to take. It was better to escape in the hopes of a better future, than to stay and endure the continuous grief and warfare, while the rich and powerful continued to live well. 

What have the gatekeepers of the country truly done for its people? What would nobles like them know about the pain and suffering that regular civilians had to go through? Such questions and thoughts were not uncommon. Criticism of the government was vast, even if Almyra tried to hide behind their pride and put up a front of a united an powerful country.

But to speak of such criticisms aloud was worthy of a death sentence, and, as far as they knew, Lyra was an outsider. She had considered herself one, and drew the line herself.

“…The other one knows magic,” Selma said, quietly, changing the subject. 

Lyra turned. “Black magic?” 

Selma shook her head. “Anima.”

That was unexpected—not the fact that the guard knew the magic, but that Selma knew how to differentiate between the classes. She had a feeling that Selma wasn’t just the average runaway. 

“It’s fine,” Lyra said, finally turning away from the window to face the girls. “Your kidnappers have not killed you, so what is there to fear?”

In this world, the only thing to fear was death itself. As long as her head was still on her shoulders, then she was unafraid, and she found no reason for others to be either. 

Fodlan’s Throat was not an easy pass to get through. The fact that these girls — however they may have ventured — had survived its trenches were proof enough that they were not so weak. 

“Disregarding how you passed, you survived that. Therefore, you can survive anything else that these scum may hold against you.”

They did not come here to die. They came here to live, and to die under the hands of their captors would have proved counterproductive. 

It wasn’t as though she really cared. Lyra just said it as she saw fit, not a means to console the others. But she seemed to earn Selma’s approval anyway, because the other girl smiled at her. 

“My sister is here with me,” she finally answered. “We were originally travelling with some merchants, and thought that we could make some profit on this side of the border. We knew it was dangerous, but the profit that we could have made was too tempting to ignore. And, we figured, once we made a good enough profit, then we would settle down here too.” 

They had risked their lives every so often for a better life.

“—But _you’re_ not here to trade, and you’re not here to seek refuge,” she said, ever observant. “So what are you doing here? Out of everyone else here, you are the only one that has kept her jewels and fine clothes.”

For once, Lyra was unsure. This was a question that she had asked herself many nights, but when Selma asked her it, she did not know how to respond. She did not know the answer herself. 

Or, if she were being honest, then she did. It was just that she could not admit it aloud. Her reason was not as just as to seek a better life; not noble to want to improve relations between the two countries. It was Canis whose reasoning was pure and proper, while in the end, Lyra’s were selfish.

But a reason was still a reason, was it not? 

“I came here to search for someone,” she finally replied; but it turned out, they were living well. So what did she come here for? 

Really… Hadn’t she just wasted her time? 

“—And to tell them goodbye.” _For one last time._

  
Claude sneezed. Inside of the room, he, Canis, and Lorenz were currently overseeing a map of the village and its nearby vicinity. 

It wasn’t his finest of hours, and Canis had given him the cold shoulder when they had found out that Lyra had disappeared. He felt guilty; he really did. He had been delayed in noticing her absence and as a result, had lost track of her. By the time that he had recovered his wit to search for her, it was clear that she was gone. 

They had people searching for her non-stop, and it seemed futile until this morning, they received word that someone had spotted her the day that she disappeared. A pair of young siblings came to see them. 

“We saw the criminal with a granny, towards the 8th district,” they said; it was difficult to fault them for assuming that Lyra was a criminal. After all, the posters that they set around the village were vague—only a “wanted alive” caption printed with her description and image. “We knew she was up to no good,” the boy continued. “Everyone knows how suspicious that granny is. Her son has been caught by the magistrate many times—I think he’s in jail right now, too.”

“Didn’t they release him?” the girl interrupted, “—They say that he’s friends with the jailer, so he’s been able to go in and out as he wants… I saw him once. He’s really scary…”

“Yeah, yeah! He’s huge—like, as big as a wyvern! I wouldn’t mess with him, if I were you. You folks don’t look like you’re from around here, so you probably don’t know how dangerous they are. Especially you—” he looked at Lorenz, eyeing him up-and-down, “He could probably kill you with just a look.”

“Okay, that’s enough—“ Claude said, trying his hardest to suppress his laugh. He sat taller and gave the two siblings the most intimidating look he could muster, and they turned to him cautiously. “How do we know you’re not lying? Tell me exactly what happened when you saw the criminal.”

Canis glared at him here, from halfway across the room. 

“We were just walking,” the boy replied. “We typically stay to ourselves, you know? So we were just passing through the alley going into the 8th district when the criminal bumped into it. _She_ bumped into us, and then lectured us about watching where we were going! I hope you guys catch her soon.”

“…She was really pretty though,” the girl said. “I’ve never seen eyes like hers before. And the clothes she wore were beautiful. Is she really a criminal?”

Her brother shrugged. “Who knows? Lots of prostitutes wear nice clothes, you know. Don’t be so foolish.”

“Don’t let her hear you call her that,” Claude warned, though the mirth was evident in his eyes. “She’ll kill you.”

The boy stiffened; his little sister moved closer to him. But, boldly, he met Claude’s gaze evenly, and said, “Then you should catch her real quick.”

Claude’s lips twitched again, but seeing how the glare had not lessened on Canis’ face, he dismissed the two siblings to give an official report to their camp. The boy had a quick wit, and demanded the reward before leaving—but Claude had simply grinned.

“Half first,” he said, causing the younger boy to frown. “—And the rest of it when we catch the criminal, yeah?”

When they were finally gone, the older trio collected around a map. They were staying in the 4th district, and the 8th was closer to the northern edge of the village. Beyond that were some wild plains before they reached the next village, and surrounding them all were free lands. Bandits and hooligans of all kinds surrounded the area. It would be tough to narrow down their target, but they knew firsthand to check the granny’s house. 

“Do you think their information is credible?” Lorenz asked. “After all, it was clear that they only came for the reward. Wasn’t it foolish to give them even half of it?”

Claude didn’t look up from the map. There were many places that Lyra could have been taken to, as well as the other kidnapped girls. Even thinking from a bandit’s point of view did not narrow down any potential locations.

“Have you never been kidnapped before, Lorenz?” he asked, as though it were abnormal to not have been. It was asked so simply that Lorenz briefly wondered if such a situation were as normal as Claude made it out to be. 

From across him, Canis’ eyes flickered towards Claude. He did not speak, but there seemed to be a silent understanding between the two men. At the very least, amongst the three of them, Lorenz had a feeling that he truly was the abnormal one.

“No, I would not say that I have,” he replied. “I am a noble. My father is Lord Gloucester, one of the most esteemed men in not only the country, but also the continent. Who would dare to think to attempt harm upon my noble self?”

Such a thought would have been bold but foolish, and in search of a death sentence. He was proud of his privilege, but when Claude smiled —mockingly, it seemed— Lorenz frowned. He did not like being looked down upon, nor feeling as though he were ignorant. 

Not that it was much better to have ever had such a terrible experience to begin with. 

“Well, then, young Lord Gloucester, let me tell you something. Be sure to write it down while you can—and, in the future, when you get abducted, don’t forget to thank me for saving your life,” Claude said, haughtily. “When your life is in threat, there are two things that come to mind. Naturally, the first is your survival—the how and the if. And if that is a non-possible, then the second is to ensure that the person who hurt you is punished.”

The best way to do so was to leave evidence, and what better ones than live ones? The encounter with the siblings was not an accident, and anyone would have been foolish to underestimate Lyra.


End file.
